Kitabı oku: «Letters of a Diplomat's Wife, 1883-1900», sayfa 27

To H. L. K

South Pavilion, West Cowes,

August 9, 1900.

We are becoming accustomed, Dear, to the wind and rain and a general damp feeling. I don't think I have been really dry since we left Paris. I live in my serge dress and a waterproof. I should have been quite comfortable if I could have changed with the other one, but Bessie Talleyrand is disporting herself in it. When we arrived we found everyone in mourning for the Duke of Edinburgh, the first days not so marked, but since the Osborne has arrived with the Prince and Princess on board one sees nothing but black, and Bessie was much disgusted, having only blue. The steam launches and boats go all day between the yachts and the shore. Everyone, men and women, wears those remarkable yellow mackintoshes; you can't tell them apart, and the boats look as if they were loaded with great yellow "ballots." The two American yachts, Nahma, Mrs. Goelet, and Itwana, Mr. Armour, are splendid, enormous steamers and beautifully kept. Yesterday after lunch Bessie and I started in the wind and rain to drive over to Osborne and write ourselves down for the Queen. I am afraid I sha'n't see her, which will be a great disappointment to me; but the ladies here tell me she is much affected by the Duke of Edinburgh's death, and after all, the Prince has only just got back from his funeral. The drive through Cowes is not very interesting, through dirty, smelly little streets; but once over the ferry (which one crosses in a boat large enough to take the Queen's carriage with four horses) it is pretty enough, up a long hill with fine trees and a few places. We didn't see the Castle, as of course we were stopped at the gates, which were open, with a policeman standing just inside. The park looked fine, grass and flower beds beautifully kept. We wrote ourselves down and I left a card for the Duchess of Roxburghe, who is in waiting. We went for tea to the Club garden, and there I saw the Duchess of Roxburghe, who told me the Queen would certainly see me. We dined quietly at home, rather a fancy meal, but we prefer that to going out. There is a nice little dining-room, and Joseph waits. How he gets on down-stairs with the three maiden ladies who run the establishment I don't know. He doesn't speak or understand one word of English and has never been out of France before. He went nearly mad over that remarkable railway journey of ours across country from Eastbourne to Cowes, where we changed about 10 times (all the luggage naturally being transferred each time), lost all our connections everywhere and arrived at Cowes at 10.30 at night, having left Eastbourne at 2. He is much impressed with the uncleanliness of the house, and said to me just now, "Si Madame voyait les torchons sales dont on se sert pour essuyer les assiettes propres, Madame ne mangerait jamais à la maison."

East Cowes,

Sunday, August 12, 1900.

I had two notes this morning, one from Miss Knollys saying the Princess would receive me, and one from Madame d'Arcos saying the Empress Eugénie would like us to come to tea with her on the Thistle at 5. I had rather hesitated about writing myself down for the Empress. I had never seen her, and W. was in such violent opposition always to the Empire that I never saw any of the Imperial family; but Madame d'Arcos said Bessie and I were the only Frenchwomen at Cowes; we had been everywhere—on the Osborne, to the Queen, etc., and it was rude not to do the same thing for the Empress—au fond, I was rather glad to have the opportunity, as I had never seen her. We went to the club garden after church, as I wanted to find a friend who would lend me a steam launch to go out to the Osborne. Lord Llangattock offered his, and also said he would take us to the Thistle for tea, as they were going on board to say good-bye to the Empress (they leave to-night). I wore my black and white foulard and a big black hat with feathers (never a sailor hat), which could go, as the day was fine and the sea smooth. The Princess was not there when I arrived; she had gone to the service on the Victoria and Albert. Miss Knollys appeared and we sat some time talking on deck. I was leaning over the railing when the Royal launch arrived, and I was astounded, after all these years (7), at the appearance of the Princess. Just the same slight, youthful figure and light step. The Duke of York came forward first and talked a little. He was dressed in undress admiral's uniform and looked very well. Then the Princess came, quite unchanged. She was simply dressed, in mourning, and looked quite as she did the last time I saw her, when she was also in mourning (for Prince Eddie). She kissed me, seemed pleased to see me, and we sat on two straw chairs, under the awning on the deck, talking about all sorts of things. She said the Duke of Edinburgh's death was a great grief to them. They were very fond of him, and it was sudden; and spoke most sadly about the Empress Frederick, who seems to be dying, and of a cancer. It seems that she knows quite well what is the matter with her and what is before her, as she nursed her husband through his long malady. Isn't it awful? She spoke about Francis, recalling his first afternoon at Marlborough House, when he was quite small and wept bitterly when the negro minstrels appeared. I told her he was working for diplomacy, and she said she would be much pleased to see him when he came to London as attaché.

The Prince came and talked a little while, and also recalled the last time we met last summer on the quai at Nuremberg, both coming from Marienbad, and swallowing hastily a cup of very hot coffee. I thought he looked grave and preoccupied. He talked a little about Cowes. He said he never remembered such a bad week—awful weather and few yachts. He was very complimentary about the two big American yachts, Itwana and Nahma; said he had never seen the Nahma, which he regretted, but he didn't know Mrs. Goelet—did I? "Oh yes, very well, ever since she was a child, and her mother and father before." I was sure she would be very pleased to receive them. The Prince said they were in such deep mourning that they had been on no yacht, and he hoped there would be no party. I said Mrs. Goelet herself was in deep mourning. After some consultation with the Princess they said they would like to go on board to-morrow morning at 12 o'clock (they leave early Tuesday morning), and I promised to speak to Mrs. Goelet.

He was amused when I said I liked the "Japs" so much, as he rather invented them. They came to sing to him one summer when he was ill at Cowes and on his yacht all the time. There are four people, three women and a man (a Frenchman), all masked, the women in pretty Japanese dresses and the man in ordinary clothes. One woman accompanies at the piano by heart, and extremely well; the other two and the man sing and dance—dancing very moderate—a sort of "walk around," but the singing very good; all English except one or two little French songs the man sings alone. One of their favourite ditties, "Mary housemaid," always brings down the house. It is just the sort of thing that would have amused us in our young days when we used to play and sing by heart and invent steps. The women are very graceful—I don't know if they are pretty, as one never sees their faces—and the man extraordinary, very amusing and never vulgar.

I think I must have been a long time on the yacht, and nothing could be more gracious and sympathetic than the Princess. She told me the Queen would certainly receive me. I hadn't more than time to get back where Bessie and Borghese were very hungry waiting for luncheon, and to start again at 4; this time with Bessie and the Llangattocks for the Thistle. We were received by Madame d'Arcos, Mlle. Darauvilliers, and M. Rambaut. They told us the Empress had a cold and was very hoarse; had been forbidden by the doctor to come on deck, and also to talk, but that she would receive us in the cabin. We went down almost immediately, preceded by Madame d'Arcos, who said we must not stay long, as the Empress ought not to talk. She was standing in her cabin, still a handsome, stately figure, with beautiful brow and eyes, and charming manner, more animated than I had imagined. She was very well dressed in black. She made us sit down and talked herself a great deal, always about Paris, the Bassanos (speaking most warmly of the Duke), d'Albuféras, and various mutual friends. She knew Francis was to work for diplomacy, and said she could wish him nothing better than to walk in his father's footsteps. We were afraid we were tiring her, as she talked all the time. Twice the "dame d'honneur" appeared, but she waved her away. When she finally dismissed us she said "Je ne dirai pas adieu, mais au revoir"—regretted very much that she could not come on deck and have tea with us, but that we must certainly stay. We had a pleasant half hour talking with the others, and then there came a message from her begging that we would take her launch and cruise about in the harbour. I accepted gladly, as I wanted to communicate with the Nahma and didn't exactly know how to manage. The French ladies too wished to see the American yacht, so off we started in the Empress's launch. It seemed funny after all these years to be suddenly thrown with the Empress and her suite and careering about in her launch. Mrs. Goelet was not on board, but the steward took the visitors all over the yacht, and I discovered Mrs. Warren and told her that the Prince and Princess would like to go on board to-morrow—she said she was quite sure her daughter would be very happy to see them. I found a note from the Duchess of Roxburghe when I got home, saying that the Queen would receive me to-morrow at 4.30 at Osborne, so my day will be full, as I told Mrs. Goelet I would come to the Nahma to present her to the Prince and Princess.

To H. L. K

East Pavilion, Cowes, Isle of Wight,

Monday, August 13, 1900.

Well, Dear, I am just back from Osborne. I have the salon all to myself, Bessie and Borghese are out, and I will write you all about my audience while it is fresh in my memory, but I must begin at the beginning and tell you about the Royal visit to the Nahma, which went off very well. A little before twelve Mr. Warren, Mrs. Goelet's brother, came for us and we went off at once to the yacht. The Royal party arrived very punctually, Prince and Princess, Duke and Duchess of York, Princess Victoria, and various gentlemen. They were all delighted with the yacht, particularly the Duke of York, who saw everything. He called an officer of the Osborne to see some arrangement of signals which it seems is wonderful, and said they had nothing so perfect in the Royal Yacht. Mrs. Goelet did the honours very well and simply, receiving the Princes at the gangway, with her son and daughter on each side of her, a pretty, graceful figure in her plain black dress. I remained on board to lunch after the Princes departed, and they sent me ashore at 2.30 as I had just time to dress and go to Osborne.

I started again a little before 4, wearing my black taffetas trimmed with lace and a tulle bonnet and white aigrette (quite costume de ville—I could not go to the Queen in a serge skirt and big hat). I took Joseph with me in plain black livery. We arrived quite in time, as there was no delay at the ferry this time, and the large gates were open, the man making a sign to us to drive in. There were two or three policemen standing near the gate and in the park. The park is pretty—not very large but beautifully green, and as we got near the house, quantities of flowers—a mass of colour. The house is not handsome—rather imposing, a large grey stone house with two wings, and flower-beds close up to the windows. Three or four footmen in plain black livery were waiting in the hall, and they took me at once upstairs to the ladies' drawing-room—a nice room at the side of the house not looking out to sea. The Duchess of Roxburghe was waiting for me, and we talked about fifteen minutes. Then came a Highland servant saying, "Her Majesty was ready to receive Lady Waddington." The Duchess and I went downstairs, walked through various galleries, and stopped at a door where there was no servant. The Duchess knocked, the Queen's voice said, "Come in," and I found myself in a beautiful large salon, all the windows opening on the sea. The Queen, dressed as usual in black, was seated in the middle of the room facing the door. I had barely time to make one curtsey—she put out her hand and made me sit down next to her. She spoke to me first in French (just as she always did when I was at the Embassy—to mark, I suppose, that I was the French Ambassadress), "Je suis très heureuse de vous revoir—I think we can speak English—how much has happened since we met"; and then we talked about all sorts of things. I thought she looked extremely well—of course I couldn't tell if her sight was gone, as she knew I was coming and I sat close to her. Her eyes were blue and clear, and her memory and conversation quite the same. She thanked me for my letter; said the Duke of Edinburgh's death was a great blow to her. It was so sudden, she had not thought him ill. She had lost three children all very dear to her, and it was hard at her age to see her children go before her. She spoke at once (so moderately) of the caricatures and various little incidents that had occurred in France. I said I was very glad to have an opportunity of telling her that everybody in France (except for a few hot-headed radicals and anti-English) was most indignant at such gratuitous insults not only to the Queen but to a woman. She said she quite understood that—that wherever she had been in France everybody had done what they could to make her stay happy and comfortable; that she never could forget it, and hoped the French nation felt that—also that she would never dream of holding the country responsible for the radical press, but "my children and my people feel it very deeply." We talked about the King of Italy's murder (she was much pleased with the expression in one of the Italian papers "è morto in piedi") and she expressed great sympathy for Queen Margherita—"She is fond of Italy and is always thinking and planning what she can do for the people." We also talked about the Shah and the attentat in Paris. I said that left me rather indifferent, but she answered instantly, "You are quite wrong—it is the principle, not the person, that is attacked in those cases." I then remarked that it was a great pity, I thought, that one of those gentlemen (anarchists, not sovereigns) shouldn't be lynched; that I believed the one thing they were afraid of was the justice of the people. She said, "That is not a very Christian sentiment"; but I think she didn't altogether disagree with me. She asked me about Francis—was he working for diplomacy; and then, I don't know exactly how, we began talking about mixed marriages. She said she didn't think religion ought to be an invincible obstacle. I said I thought with her, but that French Protestants were very strict. I told her it had been said that my husband, who was certainly a very large-minded man in most things, was really narrow about Catholics. She said, with such a charming smile, "Oh, I can't think M. Waddington was ever narrow about anything, I always thought him one of the most large-minded, just men I ever knew." I must say I was pleased, and W. always felt that for some reason or another he was sympathetic to her. We talked a little about the Empress Frederick; she said the last news was better, but she evidently didn't want to pursue the subject. We talked on some little time, and when she finally dismissed me, she said, "I hope you will come back to England, and whenever you do I shall be very glad to see you." She shook hands—I backed myself to the door, opened it, and there found the Highland servant, who took me back to the drawing-room where the Duchess of Roxburghe was waiting. She suggested that we should go for a turn in the garden, and when she went to get her hat I looked about the room, which is quite plainly furnished—a grand piano, comfortable furniture, not pretty, and no particular style.

We walked about the gardens a little, which are pretty, such quantities of flowers, and had tea under the trees. Two of the ladies came out—Mrs. Grant and Miss Harbord. They were very anxious to know if I found the Queen changed after seven years, but I really can't say I did. My impression is that they find her older. They say she felt the Duke of Edinburgh's death very much, and that she is very worried about the Empress Frederick, though she doesn't talk much about her. It was lovely sitting under the trees, so cool and quiet after the noise and glare of Cowes. All the people bowed as we drove home through Cowes. I think they took Joseph in his black livery for one of the Queen's servants.

I must tell you that Joseph and Élise are also moving in high society. Joseph came with a most smiling face to me Saturday night to say that one of his friends was chef on the Empress's yacht (the Thistle) and had invited them to breakfast on Sunday on the yacht. I said they could go, and when Bessie and I were going to church we saw them start—he in the regulation Cowes blue serge costume (not the short, very short, Eton jacket which is the dress attire of the Club men) and yellow shoes, and she in my old purple foulard, with a very nice little toque. A very smart little boat was waiting for them.

Now, my Dear, I must stop, as I am exhausted, and a perfect Mrs. Jellyby, papers flying all over the place, as I am writing at the open window, and ink all over me, fingers, hair, etc. I can't say, as Madame de Sévigné did, "ma plume vole," for mine stops and scratches, and makes holes in the paper, and does everything it can to make my writing difficult. I wonder why I hate it so—I do—as soon as I sit down to my writing-table I want to go out or play on the piano, or even crochet little petticoats—anything rather than write. I suppose I shall never see the Queen again—at her age it isn't very likely, especially if I wait another seven years without coming over. I am glad she received me, it was a great pleasure.

Note

Paris, 29, Rue Auguste Vacquerie,

Dimanche, 29 Decembre, 1901.

Of course I never saw the Queen again. She began to fail that same autumn (1900) after her return home from Balmoral, and died at Osborne the 22d of January, 1901—a beautiful death, painless, sleeping away and all her children and grandchildren with her. It isn't only the Queen who has disappeared—it is the century. England will enter on a new phase—but it must be different from the chapter that has just closed.